We will be known forever by the tracks we leave.
~ Native American Proverb ~
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
HIS ROOM (A song)
HIS ROOM
Lyric by Lora Mitchell
Music by Billy Baker & Cinder LeDell
Not much in His Room-
but an old pair of shoes
worn out with time;
A stack of letters
tied with a string,
faded, with tear-stained lines.
Not much in His Room-
but an old pocket watch
broken from a fall;
Photos in a cigar box,
held with rubberbands,-
seemed to tell it all
Chorus:
He never climbed a mountain,
never saw the sea,
He lived in his own world,
contented just to be.
He never complained of life
and he always made it through.
If he ever had a dream,
no one knew.
Not much in His Room
as I picked up his things.
Not much in His Room.
Feeling kind-a-down
and kind-a-sad,-
Tryin' to understand
this lonely old man
I once called dad.
Repeat Chorus:
Copyright (c) '78 Mitchell/Baker/LeDell
Lyric by Lora Mitchell
Music by Billy Baker & Cinder LeDell
Not much in His Room-
but an old pair of shoes
worn out with time;
A stack of letters
tied with a string,
faded, with tear-stained lines.
Not much in His Room-
but an old pocket watch
broken from a fall;
Photos in a cigar box,
held with rubberbands,-
seemed to tell it all
Chorus:
He never climbed a mountain,
never saw the sea,
He lived in his own world,
contented just to be.
He never complained of life
and he always made it through.
If he ever had a dream,
no one knew.
Not much in His Room
as I picked up his things.
Not much in His Room.
Feeling kind-a-down
and kind-a-sad,-
Tryin' to understand
this lonely old man
I once called dad.
Repeat Chorus:
Copyright (c) '78 Mitchell/Baker/LeDell
Monday, October 12, 2009
GETTING TOGETHER
It ain't easy
When you have no map
Or set of directions
To find your way.
It ain't easy
Assembling the pieces
When the nuts and bolts
Are lost or misplaced.
It ain't easy
When there are so many
Detours and back roads
To the main gate.
It ain't easy
Lifting the barriers
To rebuild the blocks
Of love again.
Lora Mitchell
Love in New York (The Alternative Anthology)
Copyright (c) 1976 by the Alternative
When you have no map
Or set of directions
To find your way.
It ain't easy
Assembling the pieces
When the nuts and bolts
Are lost or misplaced.
It ain't easy
When there are so many
Detours and back roads
To the main gate.
It ain't easy
Lifting the barriers
To rebuild the blocks
Of love again.
Lora Mitchell
Love in New York (The Alternative Anthology)
Copyright (c) 1976 by the Alternative
Saturday, September 19, 2009
September 20, 2009
In memory of my brother John, who passed betw. 4-5am on September 20th.
Rest in peace, John. You certainly deserve it. You are forever in my thoughts. Baby sister will share your personal story one day.
Rest in peace, John. You certainly deserve it. You are forever in my thoughts. Baby sister will share your personal story one day.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
The first year begins ~
It begins with a phone call at 7:30 am which jars me from a deep sleep. It's mom's visiting nurse, Lorraine who shows up every morning for a short follow-up physical and to dispense meds. She tells me that mom, who is 82 years old, needs additional evening care because she suspects she is not taking her night meds. My brother John, who is devoted to mom, lives five floors below her in a lovely senior citizen's complex and keeps a close eye on her. I call and ask if he will check on mom in the evenings to be sure she takes her meds. He says he has tried but she keeps hiding them and every night, it's a hide and seek game. A few wks. later, John, frustrated, pleads for help. We need to talk, he says. I need to be there. Even though I had just visited a month earlier during the holidays, I agreed to make the trip if he would pick me up at the train station. Here I go once again. How many trips over the last 40+ yrs? The familiar ride easily done in my sleep. Rural beauty of rolling hills, lush green, velvet vegetation, stark blue skies, oak, maple, willow, birch, walnut, chestnut trees dappled with sunlight or bowing low with ermine snow or silvery ice . To my hometown. A lovely, quaint New England college town, nestled in a valley, surrounded by a small mountain range. A spacious quilt of rich farm land. Cultivated fields made fertile by the mighty Conn. River, producing the finest tobacco leaves for rolling cigars and a cornucopia harvest basket of the finest potatoes, onions, asparagus, cabbages, corn, green beans, etc., feeding families along the Eastern Coast. Cherry, pear, golden apple trees laden heavy with sweet fruit.
The residents like to call it a city, but what is a city without a train station? Yes, there was one when I was a kid. On lazy summer evenings, we would sit on the porch and count the passenger and cattle cars slowly chugging along the tracks. It's train whistle was our alarm clock. Even then, I yearned to go where they were going. Sometime in the '60's, the station closed and became a depot restaurant. How convenient for all those college kids and travelers like mself. Who's bright idea was that? The airport was in a neighboring state and the closest train station now 25 miles away. From Penn Station, a comfortable ride since Amtrak took over. The other choice? A crowded bus from Port Authority. My destination? A small wood shed used as a bus stop, kept cozy in winter by a vintage pot belly stove. A pit stop for Greyhound, Trailways and Peter Pan. "Relax and leave the driving to us." The shed but a short walking distance to mom's apartment. My Guardian Angel must have been protecting me on all those bus and train rides during those many years, because not once was I ever in an accident during the seasons and all types of weather. No sense in complaining about this mode of travel. This city gal never got her driver's license and never needed it...until now.
The residents like to call it a city, but what is a city without a train station? Yes, there was one when I was a kid. On lazy summer evenings, we would sit on the porch and count the passenger and cattle cars slowly chugging along the tracks. It's train whistle was our alarm clock. Even then, I yearned to go where they were going. Sometime in the '60's, the station closed and became a depot restaurant. How convenient for all those college kids and travelers like mself. Who's bright idea was that? The airport was in a neighboring state and the closest train station now 25 miles away. From Penn Station, a comfortable ride since Amtrak took over. The other choice? A crowded bus from Port Authority. My destination? A small wood shed used as a bus stop, kept cozy in winter by a vintage pot belly stove. A pit stop for Greyhound, Trailways and Peter Pan. "Relax and leave the driving to us." The shed but a short walking distance to mom's apartment. My Guardian Angel must have been protecting me on all those bus and train rides during those many years, because not once was I ever in an accident during the seasons and all types of weather. No sense in complaining about this mode of travel. This city gal never got her driver's license and never needed it...until now.
Lora's Five-Year Journey
Hello friends: Tues. Sept. 8th is the anniversary of mom's passing, so I used the day for prayer and reflection. Lora
Monday, September 7, 2009
Lora's Five-Year Journey
It's 9pm on Sept. 7th. For 8 sleepless days, I've been at mom's side as she lay in a coma. I'm am totally spent. I cannot keep my eyes open a minute longer, so I tell mom that I am desperately tired and need to sleep for a short while but assure her that I will be right next to her in the recliner. which the head nurse brought into the room for me. I kiss mom goodnight and close my eyes. I sleep solidly and don't hear a sound, not even the flurry of activity that goes around me. The nurse wakes me up at 3am on Sept 8th and tells me it's time. I get up with a start and look at mom as she takes her last breath. Father Martin is already in the room giving mom the last rites. I join him in prayer. I am in the deepest depth of grief yet relieved to know that her suffering is over. She is on her way to Heaven and for me and John, it is over, after five, unbelievable years...it's finally over....or so I thought.
My 2nd post...
Dear friends: It's now 4:02am and I changed my blog template and added a few new photos. Hope you like the new one.
Lora
Lora
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Lora's Five-Year Journey
Dear friends and followers:
Come join me on my five-year journey which will be shared from a daily journal I kept during a loved one's nightmare in a nursing home. It will not all be tragic...there will be some humor, I promise you. Out of the file cabinet comes the 300+ pages...to be aired - finally. I've decided to create a blog instead of putting it in book form which would take years..and time is limited and of the essence for this "late bloomer." So if you are interested, take this ride with me. A note to all the baby boomers who are currently going through angst, turmoil, confusion and painful decisions to make about their now elderly loved ones...this blog is for you!!!
Thank you, Lora
Come join me on my five-year journey which will be shared from a daily journal I kept during a loved one's nightmare in a nursing home. It will not all be tragic...there will be some humor, I promise you. Out of the file cabinet comes the 300+ pages...to be aired - finally. I've decided to create a blog instead of putting it in book form which would take years..and time is limited and of the essence for this "late bloomer." So if you are interested, take this ride with me. A note to all the baby boomers who are currently going through angst, turmoil, confusion and painful decisions to make about their now elderly loved ones...this blog is for you!!!
Thank you, Lora
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